


Never Been Melted Before

by oneforyourfire



Series: *Miracles in December* [4]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: warnings: mutual masturbation, romantic cheesiness, my kjdtitle from this song





	

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: mutual masturbation, romantic cheesiness, my kjd
> 
> title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0rj2RhR9po)

“Come on, Jongdae,” Joonmyun coaxes, punctuating the appeal with a soft, lingering tug at Jongdae’s bottom lip, an imploring thumb curled around the base of Jongdae’s throat, smiling into his mouth when Jongdae shivers at the touch. “Show me. Let me see.”

He pulls away after another succulent kiss, another sharp nip, and Jongdae already misses the warmth of his mouth, the warmth of his touch, misses the heat of his body.

Joonmyun feels miles away at the edge of the bed, but Jongdae is still pinned by the heat of his gaze, the weight of his want. And they’ve barely started, but he already feels raw and ruined with desire, overflowing with love. Indignant, too. Indignantly aroused. It’s wonderful and awful and painfully distressing. 

_Touch yourself for me—just for me_ , he’d asked him last night. _Show me how you touch yourself_. Because it was Joonmyun’s turn to decide, and this is how after three years together, they keep the spark _alive_. And if it’s a show he wants, Jongdae can more than provide. 

Slowly, deliberately, Jongdae peels off his shirt, kicks off his pants, props himself against their mountain of pillows. Tilting his head downwards, he meets Joonmyun’s eyes—too far away—as he smooths a hand down his body to palm at his cock. Jongdae isn’t quite hard yet, but he still pitches sharply at the touch, nonetheless. His fingers fan apart, explore in a skimming taunt of a caress. His hips jump into his own touch, and Joonmyun groans—soft, barely audible. 

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jongdae says, pressing the heel of his palm into the head of his cock, undulating now, lolling his head back as he spreads his knees, slumps into the mess of pastel green bedclothes. “Want you, hyung. Touch myself thinking of you, hyung.” 

Joonmyun shudders, but quares his shoulders, sets his jaw, tense with arousal. 

“Hyung,” Jongdae tries again, peeling his boxers to midthigh, arching his spine, tipping his head back as he touches himself again. His body twists into his own fist, legs skating restlessly across their rumpled sheets. _Want me, hyung. Want me_. “Fuck me, hyung.” 

“Not—” Joonmyun breaks off with a low groan, shoulders hunching and head tipping back with a heavy groan, and the fading sun glitters off the gorgeous lines of pale flesh and hard sinew. He drags his hand down in a fleeting touch at his own cock. “Not yet, Jongdae. Please.” 

Jongdae swallows heavily at the gravel of Joonmyun’s voice, deep and rough—deep and rough as it only gets when one of them is naked and hard. 

He strokes himself again, faster, twisting, and a gasp lodges in his throat, morphs into a breathy whine as it spills from his shaky lips. 

_Hyung_

The gnawing frustration bubbles up his throat, tangles with the heady rush of heat at Joonmyun’s painful, painful captivation. He watches him like Jongdae’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever beheld, like there’s nothing in the world he could ever want more—watches him like Jongdae probably watches Joonmyun, too.

And it’s not the same; it couldn’t really be, honestly. But Jongdae can definitely understand the appeal in a way, of affecting him like this—from afar, but oh, it’d be even better if he could taste his mouth, feel the tiptoe of his restless, wanting fingers, the shudder of his low moans. 

It’s colder like this, lonelier like this. 

“At least take off your shirt,” Jongdae manages, a rasped, petulant whimper-grumble, and Joonmyun heeds at least that request, the muscles beneath his skin rippling, bunching then releasing as he peels it off, lets it fall to the floor. He does Jongdae one better and takes off his pants and boxer, too, waddling slightly as he steps out of the wrinkled material, and then he’s touching himself, too fingers curling around the silken flesh that Jongdae wants in his mouth. 

At the end of the bed, so distressingly far away, Joonmyun is frustratingly, intoxicatingly handsome, and Jongdae swirls his thumb around the precome beading the slit of his cock to stop himself from whining—fucking whining _again_ —about how _badly_ he wants Joonmyun’s hand, his mouth instead, wants to fuck his lips bruised, tug his soft dark hair into elegant disarray, fuck himself ragged and gasping on Joonmyun’s fingers and then bounce himself to completion on his cock. 

Jongdae wants him to break soon—or at least first, wants to win. Can’t be more affected by this—when this isn’t how he wanted it, when this was Joonmyun’s night.

Jongdae’s other hand slides down to touch himself, too, grazes lower, lower, lower, teasing over the base of his cock, the seam of his balls, the pucker of his rim. His chest heaves, and he flutters his eyelashes past the sensation. His knees knock together as he brushes again.

And it’s Joonmyun’s turn to whine. 

Heating at the low, low sound, Jongdae gropes in their nightstand for the lube, smears it messily on his fingers, the gel cold and tacky between his trembling fingers. It drips down onto the sheets as he spreads it between his legs, and he pauses like that—to shudder. 

“Keep going,” Joonmyun rasps. “Don’t stop.” And he curses reverently when Jongdae teases at his entrance, theatrically wanton and needy as he circles his rim with his curled fingers, eases two inside without preamble. The stretch of it has his head crashing back with a whine—this one less for show, but no less for Joonmyun. 

And Jongdae doesn’t think about how much better it is when Joonmyun does this, how he drops kisses on the moles dotting his inner thighs, nuzzles his mouth into his cock and tells him how beautiful he looks, how he takes it so fucking well, is just exactly what Joonmyun has ever wanted.

That part is at least the same, the little hisses of “fuck Jongdae” and “Jesus, Jongdae” and “you’re so so so—” without him ever clarifying what he means. 

Curling a third finger inside of him, twisting and thrusting, blinking at Joonmyun blearily past his heavy eyelashes, Jongdae drinks in his pebbled nipples and labored breathing and trembling fingers and furrowed brows, the luster of his black, black eyes, and he relishes the gorgeous way desire stains his entire body. He moans helplessly at the sight, at the delicious ache in his lower body. Joonmyun’s lip catches between his teeth, Joonmyun biting them red and raw, and Jongdae shakes his head, curls his fingers just right. 

The pleasure comes in heavy pulses, thrums electric and hot through his veins. 

“No, not—not allowed. Not fucking _fair_.” And fuck his voice sounds so wrecked and fucking desperate, imploring instead of demanding, begging not ordering. And fuck, he _hates_ it, swallows thrice before speaking again. “If you’re gonna—not gonna touch me. You have to let me hear you. I have to hear you.” 

Joonmyun's lips pop free with another low, low sound, so impossibly deep that Jongdae feels it rumble through his body, wants it pressed to his throat, to his navel, to his inner thigh, to his cock. Wants Joonmyun closer. _Fuck_.

“Gonna touch me?” Jongdae goads shakily, and Joonmyun shakes his head.

But he’s touching himself at least, stroking his cock slow and filthy, moaning for him. He's matching the pace of Jongdae’s wrist, fucking by proxy, and fuck—it really isn’t how he’d want this to go, really isn’t enough to sate him. 

“Hyung,” Jongdae tries again, a high-pitched taunt, Jongdae shivering as his own fingers catch on the puffed out pucker of his rim. “Can’t believe—can’t accept that you’ve left me here to fuck myself instead of doing us both a favor. Fucking me like you should.”

Joonmyun groans again, in response. Jongdae twists to reach in their bedside drawer for their toys. 

He gropes for his favorite—an anniversary gift, neon pink, ribbed and impressive with 6 different speeds, and Jongdae is extra sloppy, extra showy as he smears lube around the entirety of it. 

He teases himself, teases them both with the vibrator at his rim, swirling, barely barely barely dipping before pulling back to graze his balls, his inner thighs. It’s set at a low hum already, and the tiny little thrums of vibration have tremors racing up his legs, down his spine. 

He’s panting—they both are—by the time that he eases the toy inside. His other hand skims his own nipples, glides over the ripple of his ribs, swirls around the fine hair at his bellybutton before curling around his cock. He hisses—they both do—at the touch. 

And too turned on, too strung out to draw it out, Jongdae fucks himself with abandon, head tipped back, mouth open, wrist aching as he pushes in fast and hard and deep, every vibration thrumming through his entire body until he’s a moaning, gasping, quaking mess on their shared bed. 

Not as good, not nearly as good but Joonmyun is affected by this too. Breathing audibly, touching himself audibly, holding back, Jongdae imagines, behind his flutter eyelasehs, straining tight because this was what he asked for but so much more than he was expecting and oh, he needs to fuck Jongdae. _Needs_ to. 

Gasping sharply, twisting desperately, Jongdae catches Joonmyun’s piercing gaze, feels like hes’ drowning when he sees the maelstrom of heat and liquid desire—denied or postponed. 

“Hyung,” he repeats. And it’s so weak and ready with _want_.

He’s breaking first. He’s breaking, and he needs to—fuck.

“Come here” he urges breathlessly, brokenly. “Closer—look at me. Look at me.” 

Closer so I can feel you. I need to feel you, he means. 

And Joonmyun complies again, knees walks onto the bed, closer though still painfully out of reach. He’s stroking himself, still, watching him still. And Jongdae is touching himself still, stroking and fucking, too, and the roar continues to build beneath Jongdae’s skin, climax hovering just just just out of reach, clawing at his consciousness. 

But Joonmyun isn’t faring much better, shuddering and groaning into every increasingly sloppy stroke, panting his name on every upstroke, trying still to match Jongdae’s pace, struggling still to match Jongdae’s pace. 

And then oh, Joonmyun is coming, streaking messily and heavily across his rumpled sheets, quaking so violently he nearly collapses, groaning so fucking gorgeously all the while. He gropes, pleasure-blind, in an attempt to brace himself, paws clumsily at Jongdae’s shoulder, and Jongdae, overcome, surges up to kiss him.

Joonmyun does collapse then, on him, kisses back fervent and hot and sloppy, and Jongdae bucks clumsily into his own fist. He sobs in relief when Joonmyun’s wandering finger replace his own. 

And after being denied for so long, aching for so long, Jongdae burns at the touch, pushes into it with a breathless ferocity that has Joonmyun groaning appreciatively into his mouth. 

Another three strokes, and orgasm is jolting through him, tingling through his entire body, tearing quake after quake after quake from his limbs, wrenching moan after moan after moan from his mouth. And it lasts and lasts and lasts until Jongdae’s throat is raw from screaming, his body weak and shivery with climax. 

“Hyung,” he whines, too tired at this point to care.

And Joonmyun smiles at him, pets his hair back before meeting his eyes. They’re no longer piercing, not burning, not heated, just painfully soft, brimming with fondness. And Jongdae melts with a sigh into their messy, rumpled sheets, melts into warmth of Joonmyun’s eyes, the warmth of his touch, the heat of his body, the exquisitely soft tender kiss of Joonmyun’s eyelashes against his cheekbone, the gentle brush of his lips along Jongdae’s skin, the soft caress of small, warm hands that cup and cradle, close close close.

**Author's Note:**

> for alina, hey you've stuck with me through this year, and that's great  
> merry christmas!


End file.
